


Now or Never

by Augustus



Category: Backstreet Boys, NSYNC, Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-17
Updated: 2003-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-12 01:22:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3338762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Augustus/pseuds/Augustus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scenes from a love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now or Never

**Author's Note:**

> Credits: All titles courtesy of Nick's album *g* Thanks to Charlie for the 'does-this-sound-enough-like-Lance?' read-through :)  
> Merry Christmas: to aMuse!

**1\. Help Me**  
  
London is coldly anonymous. The air smells of ice and the streets are congested with shoppers moving in erratic columns, all searching for their last, elusive Christmas gifts. Nick can peer into shop windows without fear of being recognised, as long as he dresses casually and doesn't draw attention to himself in any way.  
  
Some days, his head aches from the pretence of normality. He records in the mornings and spends the afternoons immersing himself in crowds. His hotel room is small and faded. The edges of the windows are dappled with mildew. In the mornings, they frost over and Nick draws patterns on the glass. He feels hungry a lot of the time.  
  
It is easy to discard celebrity when he is as nameless as the other faces on the street. Reputation aside, Nick isn't a fool and certainly isn't oblivious to the things that go on around him. His second album will be his last and there will be a new generations of teenagers who don't even recognise his name. That's life. All he can do is make his album what he wants it to be and ignore the tight feeling of panic that sometimes rises within his throat.  
  
Nick can't remember how to be normal. He stands in a shop, the minutes crawling, as he tries to assimilate into a lifestyle he's never known. The other guys tell him he's being foolish when he tries to explain his sense of impending doom, but Nick is pretty sure that they all feel it too, underneath their charity event smiles. Nick tells himself that he doesn't care.  
  
Oxford Street smells of chestnuts and cheap perfume. Nick gathers souvenirs for his family and hums his own songs as he walks. The teen magazines all bear Justin Timberlake's face. When he takes them to the counter, the shop assistants don't even blink, taking his money and dismissing him as they move onto the next person in line. Once upon a time, Nick wished he could be this forgettable. These days, he fancies that he can hear a clock ticking every time a teenager passes him by. Twenty-three years old and he already feels as ancient as the ground beneath his feet.  
  
Recording is a reprieve. Nick smiles as he sings, his eyes shut and his throat stretching to hit the notes. He's proud of what this album has the potential to be. If it doesn't sell, he will survive. He knows that there is more to life than fame and music, even if the thought of mediocrity twists painfully within his heart. Nick has never been good at saying goodbye.   
  
He spends his free time walking the streets of London. Some days, he seeks out the overgrown areas of Hyde Park, spreading his weight over half a park bench and laughing as the braver squirrels dart and gamble around his feet. The nights are cold. Nick wishes for snow as he watches soap operas on ITV, sipping black coffee because he's American, after all, and Howie's the only one of them who shares the English obsession with tea.  
  
There are times when Nick imagines himself caught in a giant and shimmering spiral, circling faster and faster as the power of his fate draws him exponentially onwards. He stands in the middle of his hotel room, arms outstretched and turning in a slow, determined circle while the walls seem to spin at a different and dizzying speed. His pulse pounds in his fingertips and he closes his eyes against the knowledge that he's alone.  
  
Nick can't remember when it was that he began to rely on Lance so much. He thinks that it must have been quite some time ago for it to feel so natural now. He misses him. There's something in the way that Lance looks at him that somehow makes things seem okay. The world stops spinning out of control and Nick can breathe again without imagining the air as a jagged coil of wire within his lungs. He guesses that's what love is: green eyes and a few moments of calm within the storm.  
  
London is coldly anonymous. Nick stands in a telephone booth in Covent Garden and smiles as tourists mill around him, taking photos of the bright red phone box, but steadfastly ignoring him. "They have no idea who I am," he whispers and, at the other end of the line, Lance's laugh is soft and low. " _I_  do," is his reply and Nick realises, deep down, that everything is going to be okay.

 

  
  
 **2\. My Confession**  
  
Lance knows all about Nick Carter long before he's actually met him. Justin is mildly obsessive when it comes to his Backstreet counterpart and seems to know thousands of trivial details about the sixteen year old's likes and dislikes and the way he wears his hair. Justin thinks it's important to know everything you can about your rivals, but Lance has always believed that the truer talent will always win out in the end. He guesses that might be why he feels like a liar so much of the time.  
  
Justin may be the youngest, but he is filled with the sort of inherent confidence that Lance finds impossible to understand. Justin's always friendly and supportive, but Lance can’t help but feel awkward and unnecessary whenever they're pushed together, closest in age but an entire universe apart when it comes to personality. He's more comfortable with Chris' downright lunacy or Joey's unbreakable warmth. Even JC can seem less threatening than Justin, in the rare moments when he's talking sense.  
  
Justin doesn't like Nick. They've never met, but he feels he already knows enough to judge. Lance tries to be sympathetic, but his patience is finite when it comes to endless repetition of the same anti-Nick tirade. When Lance is shown pictures, it's hard to recognise the arrogant imbecile of Justin's description in Carter's broad and disarming smile. Lance nods when Justin speaks and makes sure he doesn't stare at the pictures for too long. Sometimes, at night, he lies in bed and thinks about the blue of Nick Carter's eyes.  
  
The first time that Lance meets Nick, he is almost surprised to discover that the other boy truly exists. He is used to the Backstreet Boys as a vague concept and as the yardstick by which he and his bandmates are measured, but has never taken the idea to its conclusion or to any form of reality. Nick seems as corporeal as Lance is, however, and his palm is slightly sweaty when he stretches to shake Lance's hand. He doesn't seem much like a villain when he smiles shyly and looks straight into Lance's eyes.  
  
Nick is polite and surprisingly awkward. His words are clumsy and Lance has to bite his tongue to stop himself correcting the more obvious of his errors. His energy and enthusiasm are contagious and although Lance still has his doubts about the group as a whole, it's hard to dislike Nick when he seems so eager to be adored. His smile is dangerously transparent. Lance thinks of Lou and hopes that Kevin is as protective as Joey and Chris are. Nick doesn't seem to have the armour of confidence that Justin has, regardless of any comparisons that the media may wish to make between the two. Lance understands criticism oh too well and the way it can make him feel as though he's shrivelling inside. He hopes that Nick is happier than he seems.  
  
Afterwards, when Justin is slumped across Chris' lap and itemising Nick's faults, Lance remains silent and refuses to be drawn into the tirade. Chris strokes the younger boy's short curls as he talks, agreeing in all the right places, even as he rolls his eyes at Lance.  
  
"Don't you agree, Lance?" Justin asks finally, the question far from unexpected.  
  
Lance smiles at his friend and shrugs. "He seemed very nice to me," he confesses, biting his bottom lip so that he doesn't laugh, as he watches Justin's face fall.  
  
Lance's grin widens as he turns his gaze back to the book in his hand, staring through the paragraphs as he wonders when his and Nick's paths would cross again.

 

  
  
 **3\. I Stand For You**  
  
After a while, Nick gets sick of well-meaning phone calls. He appreciates the sentiment, but he's beginning to mark a small cross in the notebook beside his telephone each time he hears the words, "I'm so sorry to hear about AJ." The simple fact is that most of the callers weren't around for the worst of it and will disappear once again if a happily ever after is too long in coming. He is always polite but brief, realising that a quick thank you is all it takes to make them go away.  
  
He prefers not to think about AJ too much. It hurts, a slow, constant ache that forms peaks and exclamations whenever he dwells on the situation for too long. He misses AJ, but mostly he soaks in the disconcerting knowledge that he and AJ aren't as far removed as the others might like to believe. He remembers AJ's eyes and nights when his own head spun from adrenaline and too much to drink. He feels lucky a lot of the time.  
  
Lance calls during the third evening of the second week. He is straightforward, never particularly verbose. "I heard," he says, confident that Nick will not need any explanation. "I think it's for the best."  
  
Nick frowns and contemplates feeling angry. It seems presumptive on Lance's behalf to offer judgement on what is right for someone he barely knows. "It shouldn't have come to this," he says finally, remaining undecided.  
  
"Of course not."  
  
Nick realises that Lance is yet to say he's sorry. He scribbles out the neat cross that he had written on the pad.  
  
"It shouldn't have been like this and it shouldn't hurt so much," Lance continues. "But it is and it does. And that doesn't necessarily have to be all bad."  
  
"You're being philosophical," Nick accuses. "I thought we'd discussed that..."  
  
Lance laughs, a refreshing sound that curls warmly around the base of Nick's spine. "Force of habit. Are you okay?"  
  
Nick thinks for a while, acutely aware of the warm plastic of the telephone pressed close against his ear and of the gentle sound of breathing at Lance's end of the line. "I will be," he says finally.  
  
"I know you will."  
  
Nick wishes he could feel that confident when even the act of speaking to Lance seems like a charade. Life doesn't stop; it just twists and metamorphoses and leaves him wondering who he is and which way is forward. He isn't sure if this is the beginning or whether he is hurtling towards the end, but he knows that everything is changing and that suddenly he feels very old. He doesn't think that Lance could understand.  
  
"AJ's stronger than all this," Lance continues, when Nick remains unable to speak. "So are you, even if you don't believe it."  
  
"He's a thousand times stronger than I am."  
  
"I don't know," Lance replies dryly. "You can be a stubborn little bastard when you want to be."  
  
Nick laughs. "Hypocrite."  
  
"I didn't say it was a bad thing. It'll get you through this."  
  
"Sure." Nick sounds about as convinced as he feels.  
  
There is a pause before Lance speaks again. His voice is hesitant. "You know I'm here for you if you need me, don't you?"  
  
Nick rubs the side of his neck, surprised. "Actually, I didn't," he says finally, "but thank you."  
  
"Yeah, well, I'd say the same to anyone I fucked on a vaguely regular basis," Lance says quickly.  
  
Nick grins. "There are a lot of us, are there?"  
  
"I'm having a pretty good week. You know how it is."  
  
"The trials of being a popstar, eh?"  
  
"Tell me about it."  
  
There is another pause, but this time the silence is warm and comfortable. Nick wonders when it was that things with Lance reached such a stage of calm normality.  
  
"Listen, I've got to go. It's all good, okay? Just try not to think too much and don't worry about what anyone else thinks. You spend too much time pretending, Nick. It's okay if you're not perfectly rebellious one hundred percent of the time. Attitude will only get you so far. Be yourself and you'll be okay."  
  
Nick frowns, bemused. "What are you, my mother?"  
  
"I'm just someone who cares. See you next time we're both in the same city."  
  
The dial tone is louder than Nick had expected, jarring and repetitive. As he hangs up, he smiles. "Love you, AJ," he whispers, and stands the tallest that he's stood in weeks.

 

  
  
 **4\. Do I Have To Cry For You**  
  
Nick's hands clench and unclench as he glares at Lance, the room stretching between them until it becomes an insurmountable divide. It's times like this when Lance wonders whether it's all just too hard, when the veins in Nick's neck pulse rhythmically beneath the skin and Lance has to clench his teeth to stop the most jagged of his criticisms from flowing over Nick without pause. These are the moments when he hates Nick with every part of who he is, his frustration twisting painfully within him in an ever-turning coil. Everything seems black and sullied. His heart pounds from the effort of trying to stay controlled.  
  
Nick smiles when he's angry, teeth bared in a menacing snarl that bears little likeness to the open grins that usually fill his days. His eyes fade to a storm flecked grey and his face tightens into an angular mass of corners and sharp lines. He is far from unrecognisable and it is this, perhaps, that Lance finds most disconcerting. His own anger isn't directed at a stranger, which makes it cut a little deeper each time he meets Nick's eyes. Before Nick, he had never known that emotion could be so intense and multi-faceted. He hadn't realised that it was as easy to hate as it was to love.  
  
Their fights are cyclic and surprisingly bitter. Nick is all fire and violent emotion, while Lance is coldly cynical, able to wound Nick by choosing his words carefully and never raising his voice. Afterwards, he shudders at his own cruel efficiency, watching as Nick's shoulders sag a little lower beneath the weight of his insecurities. Nick's temper is hot and fast and quickly forgotten. Lance, in an argument, is calculating and lethal, his phrases carved from pure ice. Winning is easy, but it tears at him deep inside.  
  
* * *  
  
"What's the point?" Nick snaps, his fingers twitching compulsively in his lap. "Tell me, Lance, what's the fucking point?"  
  
"Too advanced a concept for your mind to understand, is it?" Lance replies calmly. "I would have thought it'd be relatively easy for you to grasp. Supposedly we like each other and enjoy spending time together. There's also the sex, which helps to kill time in between arguments."  
  
Nick pauses for a moment, shrinking slightly even as he opens his mouth to speak again. "Like me?" he growls. "You're too ashamed of me to tell your boys the truth about what's going on."  
  
One eyebrow raised, Lance smiles. "And what do you want me to tell them?" he asks. "That occasionally we get together and fuck like animals? That you always have to be the first to leave, just so it never looks like you might want to stick around? I'm sure they'd love to hear about that, Nick. They wouldn't want to murder you at all."  
  
"Why do you have to be so sarcastic all the time?" Nick leans forwards, the collar of his tee shirt hanging open at his neck. "We both  _know_ you're smarter than me."  
  
Lance rolls his eyes. "Go on then," he prompts. "Tell me the tale you've spun for your own boys. Let me guess: I just keep coming back and begging the gorgeous Nick Carter for more, right?"  
  
Nick is silent. Lance breathes deeply for the first time in what seems like hours, noting in a disconnected manner the sensation of his pulse pounding in his fingertips. He feels soiled by his own words, corrupt and without mercy. The moment is sickening. He can't remember if it's Nick he hates or simply himself.  
  
Nick speaks, finally, his former fury completely eroded from his voice. "I told them that I feel like I'm falling in love with you," he mutters. "I guess that just proves that I  _am_ the stupid one, doesn't it?"  
  
Lance is supposed to be the one who's good with words, so he's not sure how Nick's managed to undermine his universe in such an insignificant space of time. It strikes him that every single part of this is wrong, flawed from the very beginning in a way that is, at once, both tragic and sublime. He hates this sudden vulnerability and hates Nick for being the engineer of the change. His throat hurts.   
  
"I know it’s meant to just be sex and I know I embarrass you and I know that we agreed that we'd never get involved..." Nick's voice trails off as he shrugs helplessly, looking all of fifteen as he tries to hide beneath his fringe. "I  _always_ get involved, Lance. I just hoped it'd be different this time around."  
  
Lance knows the exact words that would crush Nick into a pile of nothingness at his feet. His tongue is heavy with the urge to put voice to his thoughts, but he remains silent, feeling for his cell phone as Nick's hands move restlessly and intertwine.  
  
"Joey?" he begins, as soon as he hears the hello at the end of the line. "There's something I have to tell you..."  
  
Nick's smile seems an apt conclusion. Lance figures that his winning streak had to end sometime. Life, after all, is full of turning points.  
  
* * *  
  
They fight and they make up and somehow it seems to get easier every time. Lance finds it harder to remember Nick's flaws and Nick's temper is only volatile when he's feeling insecure. Lance learns to accept the shouting matches as part of this strange normality, forever amazed by how simple reality can be when it's driven by love and by mutual respect. When he hates Nick, the emotion is brief and valued, a necessary counterpart to the intensity of his love. He learns to breathe and to accept and to hold Nick once they're done. His anger is finite but Nick is his forever. He's not quite sure how, but he thinks he finally understands.   
  


 

  
 **5\. Girls In the USA**  
  
The second time, it's different.   
  
It's hard to remember being young and anonymous when everywhere you go, there are a thousand girls tugging at your clothing and trying to catch your eye. Nick is no saint. He flirts with the pretty girls and leaves them all feeling as though they've just fallen in love. He gives press conferences and says that he would be happy to date a fan. The crowds grow a little denser in every city and sometimes Nick has to stop for a moment so that he can will himself to breathe.   
  
Award shows are always a laugh. Nick likes seeing the others all dressed up and likes to make fun of their carefully styled hair. Backstage, it feels like an island of celebrity and it's an amazing feeling to know that he's a part of something this big. He stands with AJ and they make fun of the women's dresses. He feels nauseous when they win their first big American award.   
  
Lance spots him at the after party, holding court to a circle of nervous girls. "Hard life, isn't it?" he asks dryly, raising a solitary eyebrow.  
  
The girls titter.  
  
"It could be worse." Smiling, Nick offers his hand.  
  
Lance's grip is firm, but not overpowering. His hand is slightly smaller than Nick's. "You look well."  
  
Nick takes in the careful spikes of Lance's hair before letting his gaze slide over the older boy's face and torso. "I could say the same for you."  
  
Lance's cheeks look redder than usual, although that might just be the effect of the glass of champagne that he holds loosely in his left hand. He stands awkwardly at the fringe of the circle for a moment before shrugging, his mouth twisting into an uneasy smile. "I'll leave you to it," he says briskly, meeting Nick's eyes briefly before turning to go.  
  
One of the prettiest girls presses a little closer into Nick's side. "That's the guy from that new group, isn't it?" she asks in a soft Louisiana drawl. "What are they called again? In Sync?"  
  
Nick smiles. "N'Sync," he corrects her.  
  
"Whatever." Her fingers lace within the fabric of his tee shirt. "He's nowhere near as cute as you are."  
  
Her eyes are thickly lined with smudged black kohl and her perfume smells of coconut and cherries. Nick wonders what she would look like naked in his hotel room and whether her lipstick would smear if he kissed her right then and there. Her hips are narrow beneath the waistband of her jeans. Nick tries not to think about just how young that she might be.  
  
Things are so easy now. Nick feels twitchingly bored a lot of the time and always inundated with energy. He knows that any one of the girls surrounding him would come back to his hotel room if he asked. There's no challenge in giggling acquiescence. Most nights, Nick would prefer to sleep alone.   
  
He kisses the girl because he can, then smiles his goodbye, leaving her to the indignant glares of her peers. Lance is easy to find, the bleached blond of his hair standing out against the surrounding dark suits. He looks up from his drink as Nick approaches, his eyes flickering with a brief indication of surprise as he meets Nick's gaze.  
  
"I get bored easily," is Nick's explanation.  
  
Lance nods.   
  
"What are you doing tonight?" Nick arranges his face into his most alluring smile. "Because if you're free, I thought that we could go back to the hotel and catch up..."  
  
"Catch up?" Lance looks distinctly unimpressed. "Is that what they call it these days?"  
  
Nick frowns. "Well, if you’re not interested, you just had to say," he says abruptly.  
  
"I didn't say that I wasn't interested." Lance's gaze slides towards the group of girls. "But are you sure you wouldn't prefer to...  _catch up_... with one of your adoring fans?"  
  
"Jealous?"  
  
Lance laughs. "You wish."  
  
"What's the problem, then? Are we fucking or are we not?"  
  
Lance rolls his eyes. "You're a real romantic, Nick. You do realise, don't you," he continues, "that two times is the beginning of a habit?"  
  
Frowning, Nick pauses for a moment to consider Lance's words. "It's just sex," he says finally. "Where's the habit in that?"  
  
Lance shrugs, glancing across at the door before returning his attention to Nick. "I'm busy tonight," he says briskly. "Sorry."  
  
"What?" Flustered, Nick runs a hand through his hair, suddenly unable to meet Lance's eyes. "Oh."  
  
"We're in town for the week, though," Lance continues, ignoring Nick's interjection. "Tomorrow night would be good."  
  
Slowly, Nick smiles. "You just couldn't make it easy for me, could you?" he says, an edge of respect in his tone.   
  
"There are plenty of other people willing to do that," Lance replies simply. "Now, will I see you tomorrow or not?"  
  
Nick's smile widens. "What room are you in?"

 

  
  
 **6\. I Got You**  
  
There was a time when Lance thought that his entire world would crumble if he weren't able to make it into space. The other guys teased him about his dreams, but he never let anyone know just how deeply they were felt. Music meant a lot to him, but he didn't feel it in every breath like JC did, or thrive upon his fame in the same way that Justin stored up every adoring scream. At night, when the concerts were over and the busses were speeding smoothly through the darkness, Lance would sit by the window and watch, as the stars remained steady in the sky.  
  
Nick understands, although Lance has never comprehended how. Some nights, he drives down to the water and pulls Lance onto the sand. They press shallow furrows beneath the weight of their bodies, as the moon rises overhead and the night-birds call from tree to tree. He holds Lance's hand tightly within his own and points to the different constellations. Lance recites their names even though Nick won't remember them, knowing that he finds the sound soothing against the soft lapping of the waves.  
  
The damp sand catches within Nick's hair. Lance smoothes the strands with his fingers, and Nick laughs at the way he takes such care. Lance loves to watch the shadows forming dark smudges on Nick's face as the night thickens. Everything seems somehow so insignificant beneath the curve of the sky overhead and the constant flicker of the stars. After a while, Nick is silent, the sound of his breathing a regular counterpoint to the in-and-out of the tide. Lance closes his eyes and watches the stars within his mind, reaching inwardly to the farthest edges of space. His heartbeat quickens as his lips twist into a smile.  
  
Lance loves the sense of still satisfaction that he feels during those hours at the beach. Afterwards, while Nick concentrates on the road, Lance stares through the back window, watching as the ocean fades into the swelling darkness. Nick turns on the radio, and the soft twang of Lance's favourite Country station rises in harmony with the rush of the wind against the sides of the car. Warm and wordless, Lance places a hand on the curve of Nick's thigh. The music presses viscously into the night.  
  
At the shadowy horizon, the sea meets the speckled blackness of the sky. After a while, Lance can't tell where one ends and the other begins.

 

  
  
 **7\. Is It Saturday Yet?**  
  
The tension grows until it's a persistent itch. Friday night, Nick finds himself pacing the length of his hotel room, glancing at his watch every few minutes and frowning when the time refuses to pass as quickly as he would like. It would be easier to join the others downstairs in the cocktail lounge, but there's something vaguely satisfying about waiting. Past experience has taught him that the more time he spends working himself into a state of anxious anticipation, the more spectacular the event is once it eventually arrives.   
  
AJ had rolled his eyes earlier when he had left to meet with the other guys. "Keep this up and you'll explode," he had teased.  
  
At the time, Nick had rolled his eyes, unimpressed. Now, however, he is beginning to wonder whether AJ had a point. The neon numbers on the clock radio beside his bed seem to have frozen, forever displaying 8:39. He finds it impossible to remain still, temporarily finding pause in front of the television or sitting at the end of his bed, but unable to stop moving for long. His bones ache.  
  
It's as though he's perpetually turned on, glaring at the telephone when it refuses to ring. Lance isn't due until the next day, but that doesn't stop Nick from hoping that traffic will be amazingly good or an early media engagement will force the group to arrive ahead of schedule. He feels like he's sixteen again, his hormones raging and his mind reciting a constant litany of sexsexsexsexSEX. He could drive to any club in town and find a dozen people willing to relieve his tension, but that seems like cheating, somehow. The agony of expectation is what makes the final release so damn great.   
  
Nick thinks that this thing could well be near to perfect, great sex and enforced goodbyes. He likes Lance, sure, but he's too young for true commitment. There are too many cities, too many girls and too many nights when he can't sleep for feeling alone. Lance understands and Nick is thankful for that. There's a large part of him that is unreachable right now and he thinks that he might well run if Lance chose to push. He is fond of repetition, but forever is too much like losing control.  
  
Nick's head hurts from the day's heat and from the insistent pressure of his thoughts. He wishes he could sleep, but knows that rest will be impossible until he is so weary that he can't help but pass out. The noise of the television is a constant background murmur and occasionally he changes channels for the sake of something to do. Too many more hours of this... nothing... and he's not sure he'll be sane by the time the other guys return from the bar. The air is so still that it's almost stifling. Only the sound of his footsteps breaks the quiet of the room. Every inch of his body is coiled and tense as he forces himself to breathe. He turns.  
  
The phone rings.   
  
Nick smiles.

 

  
  
 **8\. Blow Your Mind**  
  
Nick likes to be kissed in the curve where shoulder meets neck. He squirms as Lance's lips trace his collarbone, his toes twisting and pulling at the sheets. Nick's skin is sunshine golden and he tastes of the sea. Lance loves to comb his fingers through his lover's hair, tangling them in the shorter strands at the base of Nick's neck as his teeth graze a trail along the square angles of Nick's jaw.  
  
When they kiss, Nick makes soft noises towards the back of his throat. He loves it when Lance grabs his tee shirt to pull him closer, his hands fisting in the soft fabric as Nick curls solid arms around Lance's waist. Nick's lips are full and the softest that Lance can remember. He sometimes forgets to breathe when Nick's mouth presses against his own. He'd never thought that a kiss could both tear you apart and make you whole at one and the same time, but here he is, knees trembling beneath the weight of his own emotion. His fingers refuse to let go.  
  
Nick is a surprisingly considerate lover. His technique is far from flawless, but his enthusiasm is without fault. Sometimes the sex is fast and animalistic, but Lance likes it best when there's time for kisses and soft words that tickle the side of his neck. Nights together are precious. The mutual busyness of their lives doesn't often allow for lingering moments, so the few that are possible are appreciated all the more. Lance likes to awaken in a sunlit room, Nick's limbs intertwined messily with his own, his muscles stiff and sore from the exertion of the night before. Nick looks innocent and childlike when he sleeps. Lance loves watching the early morning shadows play across his face.  
  
Once, Lance had thought that nothing could be more satisfying than hasty meetings in first class hotel rooms, the 'do not disturb' sign hung over the door handle for as long as their schedules allowed. Things had seemed so simple for those few, brief hours, uncluttered by emotion or celebrity, but looking back, there had always been something missing. Lance would return to his own world tired and sated, but each time that he and Nick parted, it felt as though a hole inside him grew a little bit bigger. Now, it's easy to realise that Nick is the piece that had always been missing, but most things are a lot clearer with hindsight than when you're living a moment in time.  
  
Wrapped in Nick's embrace, Lance doesn't miss the thrill of the unknown or the knowledge that he could leave anytime he wants. These days, some things are more important to him than an independence that grew out of endless goodbyes. Nick's warmth is constant and addictive and Lance doesn't think he could leave now if he tried. If he's perfectly honest, he never really did.

 

  
  
 **9\. Miss America**  
  
Miss Pennsylvania is blonde with large teeth and a slight lilt in her voice when she smiles at the cameras and speaks of world peace. As she spins in front of the judges, Nick nudges Lance in the stomach and wonders aloud whether she'd grin quite so widely if she realised that her dress is slightly see-through beneath the lights. Lance laughs indulgently and suggests that Nick might be watching a little too closely if he's noticing details like that. Murmuring a string of romantic clichés, Nick runs his palm over Lance's thigh, and claims that he only has eyes for one man. Lance shakes his head, but covers Nick's hand with his own as he rolls his eyes.   
  
Nick loves the trashy spectacle of Miss America. He likes to look at beautiful women, he's not denying that, but there's something almost compulsive about the ceremony and the gradual acquisition of points. Ever since he was young, he's enjoyed sitting in front of the television and making bold predictions about which girl will win and which will burst into tears when she doesn't make the grade. He remembers being eleven and squashed into the one large chair with BJ, while she and his mother discussed the dresses and his father pretended to be completely uninterested in the whole affair. These days, Angel talks of modelling and local beauty competitions and he can't help but picture her up on the stage. He'd make sure, if she entered, that her dress was completely opaque.  
  
Lance laughs when Nick insists that they watch the show. Nick looks at him with imploring eyes and promises that he'll make it worth Lance's while. Lance makes a big show of giving in, but Nick knows he doesn't really care whether they watch Miss America or reruns of M*A*S*H, as long as they're together and he can snuggle into Nick's embrace. Lance's couch is huge, but they never need all the room. Sometimes Nick will sit with his back against the arm and his calves resting upon Lance's lap, and Lance will subconsciously stroke Nick's shins while they watch the local news. At other times, there will no space between them. Nick likes to stretch an arm around Lance's neck and pull him close as a movie's opening credits roll. Lance might complain about being uncomfortable, but he never moves away.  
  
Nick likes to eat popcorn when he watches beauty pageants. He covers it in melted butter and dusts it with icing sugar and Lance looks vaguely ill when Nick offers to share. Nick isn't offended and Lance doesn't complain when he tastes the sickly sweetness on his boyfriend's lips. In return, Nick bites his tongue when Lance speaks over the commentary in order to poke fun at the contestants' dresses and kisses him on the cheek when Lance says that Miss Texas looks like a whore. Nick thinks the women are all beautiful, but there are moments when he just has to look at Lance instead, his stomach twisting from the knowledge that this is real and this is perfect and it's not just another program on TV. Lance smiles at him and Nick knows that he understands.  
  
Miss New Jersey is a brunette with amazing legs. Her dress is made of embroidered white and when she smiles, her eyes crinkle into endearing lines. A year ago, Nick would have been besotted. He watches as she nods at the judges, moving effortlessly in her four-inch heels, then turns to Lance and leans in for a kiss. Lance laughs softly around Nick's lips and slides a hand beneath Nick's tee shirt. Nick deepens the kiss as he reaches around Lance to find the standby button on the television remote.  
  
"I thought you wanted to watch that," Lance says, when Nick allows him to come up for air.  
  
"I prefer to watch you," Nick replies, and even though it's a cliché, he means it with every last inch of his soul.  
  


 

  
 **10\. I Just Wanna Take You Home**  
  
In the end, it's a lot easier than Lance had predicted. The music is loud, the alcohol is flowing and nobody seems to care that Lance isn't quite twenty-one. Justin and JC command attention in the centre of the dance floor, smooth and intrinsically sexual as they glide together then flicker apart. Lance prefers to circle the room, stopping to talk with Chris or Joey when his friends aren't too busy chatting up girls. Chris laughs at him knowingly and nudges him whenever Nick comes into sight. Joey just smiles and grabs another beer.  
  
Eventually, the crowd becomes claustrophobic. Lance finds a space on the couch in one corner, content to just listen to the conversations that rise around him. He smiles as he catches a glimpse of Justin in the middle of the room, his arms raised in the air as he moves flawlessly to the throbbing baseline of the current song. Lance doesn't mind being the observer. It's easier that way.  
  
Lance likes to watch Nick interact with his friends. He jokes with Brian as though they're alone in the room, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he laughs loudly and unselfconsciously. When he speaks, Lance can almost make out the words. He smiles at the girl sitting next to him and makes small talk. He's not surprised when she grows tired of him and moves away.   
  
"He likes you too, you know." AJ's voice is cool and insidious.   
  
"What?" Lance turns, frowning as AJ takes the girl's seat and leans confidently in towards him.  
  
"Nick. He likes you."  
  
Lance laughs nervously, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
AJ raises an eyebrow superciliously. "That line might work on most of the people in this room, Bass, but it's not going to work on me. I like to watch people, see, and what I'm seeing when I look at you is a whole lot of U.S.T when it comes to our boy, Nick."  
  
Lance's mouth drops open slightly. He forces it shut again, and hopes that AJ isn't perceptive enough to notice.  
  
AJ grins. "Thought so."  
  
Mentally kicking himself, Lance shakes his head. "I think he's a nice guy, sure, but it's not like that."  
  
"I'm not the enemy, Bass." AJ's grin widens. "You don't have to pretend with me. I'm sure it's perfectly obvious to anyone who knows you that you're head over heels for Nick. Hell, Justin must be  _furious_."  
  
"He's not particularly happy about it, no," Lance says without thinking, then blushes uncontrollably when he hears his own words.  
  
AJ is kind enough not to mention Lance's slip-up or the colour of his cheeks. "I would have loved to have been there when you told him," he says wistfully. "I can just picture his face."  
  
Despite himself, Lance smiles. His gaze wandering the room without any true direction, he blinks as he finds himself looking directly into Nick Carter's eyes. Nick briefly returns his smile, before his gaze slides away from Lance and towards AJ. His eyes narrow slightly as he locks eyes with his friend, shaking his head warningly before he finally looks away.  
  
"He's worried that I'm sitting here telling you that he's got a crush on you," AJ explains guilelessly. "I guess he's got a point, all things considered."  
  
Confused, Lance tears his eyes away from Nick, returning his attention to the man beside him. "I don't understand a word you're saying, McLean."  
  
"How many times do I have to repeat myself?" AJ shakes his head in exasperation. "You've got the hots for Nick; Nick's got the hots for you. Now will you  _please_ do something about it, because listening to him go on about you is really starting to drive me insane."  
  
Lance stares at him, wordless.  
  
"I mean it." AJ shoves him, not particularly gently. "Go. Talk to him. Tell him he's driving me nuts."  
  
Lance has always been a little scared of AJ, so he does as he's told. Luckily, Nick is standing alone by one of the tables of food, so Lance doesn't have to try to pull him to one side.   
  
"It's kind of suffocating in here," Lance says timidly, afraid to meet Nick's eyes. "I was thinking of going outside for some air if you want to come."  
  
Nick stares at him for a moment, as though trying to assess whether Lance's offer is for real. "Okay," he says finally, grabbing a corn chip and some dip before following Lance out the door.   
  
"So, AJ said some things," Lance says, once they are both outside and he's made sure that there's no one around.   
  
"Bastard," Nick replies mildly, slouching against the wall, his hair shining an icy silver in the cold light of the moon.  
  
Lance considers himself a good judge of time and place. People are a lot less easy for him to read, but there's something surprising in Nick's eyes that makes him think that AJ might actually have been telling the truth. He's always thought that, if anything ever happened, it would be Nick who would make the move. Sometimes, however, things don't unfold in the most predictable of manners.  
  
"It's my turn in the single room," he says bluntly, allowing himself a quick smile as Nick's mouth drops fractionally open.  
  
"Is that what it sounds like?"  
  
Lance laughs, unsure whether he's nervous or simply jittery with adrenaline. "I think so," he replies, amazed by his own gumption.   
  
Nick grins. "Give me a minute to tell my boys I'm leaving."  
  
In the end, it's a lot easier than Lance had predicted. He takes Nick's place against the wall as he waits, his heart beating erratically within his chest. In less than the promised minute, Nick returns to his side and they smile tentatively at each other for a second, neither willing to speak. Finally, Nick kisses him and, in that consummate moment, Lance is convinced that this is the beginning of the end.  
  


 

  
 **11\. Heart Without A Home**  
  
Justin's smile is a blatant challenge. Nick isn't in the mood to respond. Justin may be younger and cockier, but the rivalry is more of a media construct than a true product of Nick's mind. Sure, there are people he'd prefer to spend time with, but he sees that as no reason to snarl and sneer, instead grinning widely as he shakes the younger boy's hand. His only response is a sullen scowl, and Nick has to repress a chuckle as Justin turns and haughtily walks away.  
  
Another stranger takes his place. Nick has to blink a few times, so marked is the difference between the two. The new boy could be Justin's inverse. Quiet and pale, he refuses to meet Nick's eyes as he offers his hand.  
  
"I'm Lance," he murmurs, as they shake. His grip is weak and his hand is slightly cold.   
  
"I know."  
  
Nick's response has the desired effect. Lance's eyes flicker upwards and he stares at Nick, surprised. "Oh," he says finally.  
  
"So, is Justin always like this?" Nick leans in conspiratorially, lowering his voice a fraction. "Or is it just me?"  
  
Lance smiles and it changes his face into something a thousand times more attractive than it had been only seconds earlier. "It's just you."  
  
This time, Nick finds it impossible to suppress the laugh. "That's good to know."  
  
"Don't take it personally." Lance shoots a quick look over at Justin before returning his gaze to Nick. "He sees you as the competition."  
  
"Let's face it. I am."  
  
Lance's cheeks redden slightly. "I like you anyway."  
  
Nick's not sure what to say to that.  
  
* * *  
  
There's something about Lance that makes him hard to dislike. He listens carefully whenever Nick is speaking and doesn't tease him if he trips up on any of the words. Nick finds himself talking about bigger things than he usually would, telling Lance about his family and about how much he misses the sea when they're travelling around. In turn, Lance smiles in the right places and interjects with the occasional story of his own. In only minutes, Nick learns that Lance thinks of his bandmates as brothers and that his family means more to him than anything else in the world. They talk about dogs for a while.  
  
Lance understands how it feels when your feet tangle in the middle of a dance step and he admits to feeling like an impostor when he attracts attention from pretty girls. Nick is glad that he's the youngest, because he gets away with a lot thanks to the lesser total of his years. He doesn't have to feel useless because Justin can execute a perfect spinning turn, despite the fact that he's the baby of the group. The other guys never look at Nick pityingly whenever he gets something wrong. Talking to Lance, Nick wonders whether his own insecurities are really as bad as people say.   
  
Lance is serious, but he laughs easily at Nick's jokes. His smile is vulnerable, but contagious all the same. Nick thinks that Lance needs to laugh more. He decides that he'd quite like to be the person to teach him how.  
  
They don't talk for long, in the scheme of a lifetime, but afterwards, Nick feels as though he's made a new friend. AJ teases him for befriending the 'weird kid' in their hotel room later that night, but Nick just rolls his eyes and throws a pillow at AJ's head. AJ says a lot of things, and Nick learnt quite some time ago to only listen to the stuff that really matters. For AJ, the important things are few and far between. And, when it comes down to it, Nick likes Lance, and that's the only thing that counts.  
  
AJ just smiles knowingly and picks up his own pillow, ready to retaliate. Nick curls into a tight ball and laughs uncontrollably as the mattress begins to shake. As he fends off the worst of AJ's blows, Nick thinks about Lance and about the uncertainty that shadowed the older boy's eyes. He would say something to AJ, but he doesn't think he'd understand. Instead, he counters the attack, digging tickling fingers into AJ's sides until they're both shrieking with laughter.  
  
In the end, they call it a draw, and AJ doesn't mention Lance again. Nick falls asleep cradling a crumpled pillow and thinking of pale green eyes.   
  


 

  
 **12\. Who Needs The World**  
  
Lance loves Nick. There are days when that's the only thing he can cling to, days when it feels like everything else in his universe is dissolving into dust and collecting at his feet. Nick is consistent and caring and always ready with a ridiculous joke when Lance is feeling particularly down. There was a point when the strength of his affection made him uneasy, but these days it's as much a part of him as music, the guys and space. Physically, they're rarely together but emotionally, if feels like they're never apart. Lance enjoys that more than he ever would have thought.  
  
Lance is a realist. There's a part of him that understands that things are rarely forever. He knows Nick too well not to understand the cold sense of fear he feels whenever they say goodbye. There's never been any promise of infinity and, in a way, he thinks that's what makes every encounter seem so intricate. He's not sure he's bold enough to suggest another way. As it is, the moments are perfect and sublime. Nick's smile warms him when the outlook is cold. That's more than enough for now.   
  
Five years, on and off, and Nick can still take Lance's breath away. Sometimes, when they meet, Lance can barely speak from the pure intensity of the reunion. There are times when neither of them speaks, smiles and kisses seeming to convey their meaning more purely than words ever could. For one brief moment, nothing in the world matters beyond the blissful touch of mouth on mouth and the shimmer of emotion that spikes within Lance when he and Nick lock eyes.   
  
For the first time, Lance understands that there is more to life than success and ambition. He would never admit it, but his time with Nick has shaped the man that he's become. He's changed so much since the first time that they met, quietly confident now and so far removed from the awkward and disbelieving boy that he once was. It's not that Nick has ever tried to change him; rather that it became easy to grow once he no longer felt so alone.  
  
And he loves Nick. That, after all, is the one thing that matters: the constant, unerring knowledge that Nick is there. It's not something that needs to be confirmed through words or declarations. It just is. Anything beyond that will come with time. 

 

  
  
 **13\. Now Or Never**  
  
Los Angeles International Airport smells of tinsel and gingerbread. Nick pulls his baseball cap a little further down over his eyes as he slumps against one of the metal barriers, becoming a rare sliver of immovability in the surrounding Christmas rush. He glances briefly at his watch before returning his gaze to the scuff-marked linoleum at his feet. Around him, the crowds move in intermittent bursts of bustle and sound. A toddler cries. The sound cuts through the indeterminate burble of conversation for one startling second, then is quickly absorbed by distance and his mother's embrace.  
  
"I wasn't sure you'd come."  
  
Nick looks up and smiles. "I said I would, didn't I?"  
  
Lance mirrors the smile. "You did."  
  
Nick has a perfect flash of clarity. He will remember this moment until the memory becomes sepia with age, the fluid intimacy of LA Airport and Lance, standing two feet in front of him, with his hands thrust deep within the pockets of his jeans and a heartbreakingly hesitant smile upon his face. He pulls Lance close for a brief hug, all that they can risk in such a public place, before stepping away, lifting his cap a little so that he can look Lance in the eye.   
  
"Did you really think I'd stand you up?"  
  
Lance shrugs. "I wasn't sure you'd be able to make it back from England."  
  
"They have this thing these days," Nick teases. "They call it an airplane. It can take you from one country to another in a matter of hours."  
  
"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." Although his tone is sarcastic, Lance's eyes remain warm. "I'm glad you could make it."  
  
"Yeah, well, it's not as though I have anything better to do. It's Christmas Eve, after all. None of the shops are open and I'm sure there's just a bunch of crap on TV." Nick reaches down to pat the bag lying at his feet. "And besides, I've already bought your present, and I'd hate it if all that shopping effort went to waste."  
  
"You could always donate it to an underprivileged child."  
  
Nick smirks. "Not  _this_ present, I couldn't."  
  
Lance shakes his head. "You know what, I  _really_ don't want to know."  
  
The tinny noise of an announcement echoes throughout the building. Flight 107 to Sydney is ready to board and Mr Robert Sawyer should proceed to Gate Nine. Nick listens for a moment, then returns his full attention to Lance, moving slightly to one side as a large family hurries past. The teenaged daughter is wearing a Justin Timberlake tee shirt. Nick shakes his head and smiles.  
  
"Are you in a rush? Do we have to go?"  
  
Lance shrugs. "I guess not."  
  
His smile widening, Nick nods into the distance. "Come on, then. I'll buy you a coffee."  
  
Starbucks is crowded, but Lance manages to claim a table while Nick waits for their drinks. He smiles as Nick places a clear cup in front of him, the whipped cream almost invisible beneath a solid inch of powdered chocolate. "Thanks."  
  
Nick concentrates on his drink for a few moments before speaking again, wiping a small smudge of chocolate from the tip of his nose. "So, I was thinking."  
  
Lance raises an eyebrow, quietly indulgent. "Yes?"  
  
"This thing's been going on for quite a while now. I mean,  _years_."  
  
Lance laughs. "I  _am_ aware of that, Nick."  
  
Nick rolls his eyes, leaning in a little as he lowers his voice. "Well, the thing is, I know that we never say it or anything, but I do love you."  
  
Lance's laugh fades as his eyes soften. "I know. I love you too."  
  
"So, I was thinking," Nick repeats, "it’s getting kinda serious. I mean, here I am, visiting you for Christmas. What'll be next? Are you going to fly to Florida for my birthday?"  
  
"Am I invited?"  
  
"Of course." Nick frowns. "That wasn't what I meant."  
  
Beneath the table, Lance surreptitiously captures Nick's feet between his own. "I thought you weren't into commitment," he teases.   
  
"I'm not," Nick shrugs. "But this... this is good."  
  
Lance nods. "It is."  
  
Nick's stomach twists a little as he meets Lance's eyes. "So, do you think we could keep doing this for a very long time?"  
  
"I don't think we have much choice." Lance takes another sip of his drink, shuddering slightly as the icy liquid slides down his throat.   
  
Nick follows suit, smiling around the plastic of his straw. "Good." Using one finger, he scoops up a precarious tower of cream and shovels it into his mouth, licking his lips to remove any stray smears of chocolate. "So what do you have planned for this evening?"  
  
Grinning, Lance lowers his voice to a smooth whisper. "I was hoping to surprise you..."  
  
Blushing a little, Nick looks away. "I guess we can always drink these as we walk," he suggests finally.  
  
Lance laughs softly. "We can."  
  
As they make their way to the exit, the airport crowds part fluidly around them, clustered families passing by in isolated bursts of related sound. Outside, the air is crisp and unusually fresh, the winter sun warming Nick's face as he reaches up to remove his cap. Beside him, Lance walks with his usual confident stride, his arm occasionally brushing against Nick's as it swings loosely at his side. It feels natural and somehow... right.  
  
Los Angeles is overcast and carefully oblivious. Nick looks across at Lance and smiles.   
  
  
 ****

**~fin~  
17th December 2003**


End file.
